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JESSIE ZANE CARTER 







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JESSIE ZANE CARTER 

(Copyrighted 1918) 



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TO MY FATHER 
SAMUEL MANLEY ZANE 




.APR 30 (9(8 



From Press of 

The Star Printery 

Muskogee, okla. 

©CI.A494827 



ffhe -^hnisalid 



Tiny, inert, fragile thing, thy being faintly quivers. 
To nether, then to higher life doth tend thy little 

shivers — 
Tis so I turn, impelled by Life, 
And then my thoughts turn back to strife. 
Imago, you and I, 
We seek to live — and strive to die. 



INFINITY. 



Infinity about us lies. 
The dust is heavy on our eyes 
Else we were blinded 
By its brilliant skies. 



And I saw beauty, 
Tis a most consuming fire. 
Fairer than poets vision ; 'tis the saints 
desire. 



THE CHRYSALID 



PORTULACAE. 



I can but think that when these days are done 
I then shall wander with the summer breeze 
And hover o'er thy fairy cups 
That open wide in many-colored seas. 

I can but know as stirs the birds soft breast 
To hopes and dreams he hastes to realize 
That I do not a vagrant fancy nurse 
But am an heritor of woods and skies. 

Observe, how surely doth the vine reach out 

And find its harbour ; else it dies, 

The moonvine and the lowly bean obey their in- 
stinct ; 

No less am I sure to wander under moon-beamed 
skies. 

To whisper with the moth o'er moon-flower wide, 
To step beside the panther's close-drawn side. 

Portulacae, I do know the whisper in thy rose and 

snow's a guide 
That saith, "Thy path is just, 
Tread on the thorns and also in the dust. 
Press deep into thy heart the bitter pain, — 
Aye, suffer, 'tis thy gain 
That thou art cleansed and purified." 
To be — on hillside in the summer haze of heat : 
Below, a rod below my feet a stream doth ripple, 

fall and beat. 



LONGING. 

Somewhere the moonbeams glimmer 
With a strange, fantastic light ; 
Somewhere the cool seas shimmer, — 
'Tis there I would go tonight. 



THE CHRYSALID 



AFFINITY. 



Not by the blundering ties of birth 

Can our affinities be found ; 

Nor Youth's swift passion that endows 

The loved one with perfection crowned. 

Blindfold to others, yet our sight is clear, 

We see Divinity in waving spear; 

We wander, lisping wondrous things. 

And not an answer from our birth-kin rings. 

Halting, but ever rings divine 

His message from the earth and pine. 

One day you meet a stranger by the way. 
Rapt with the vision that has cleared your 

way, 
"Brother, I know you, and have known you 

ayer 



'Tis mystery ! 'tis consonance ! 

Tis bitter and 'tis sweet. 

The love of life is love of death 

Tis born with the first breath. 

For what of man ? and what of Gog ? 

Ay, there you have the meat ; 

All else is futility, mankind is bitter-sweet 

At his best pace. 

God wins the race. 

Come to Him with this token. 
Old creeds are lost — old sins are crossed. 
Old boundaries are broken ; 
And God is Life and God is Love ; 
Pain, sorrow, fear, are mist — 
The cross we meet and cast aside 
When we His feet have kissed. 



THE CHRYSALID 



THE GAME OF HEARTS. 



Love is a flying, futile thing — 

So bitter and so sweet — 

We cling to the beauteous little one — 

Then gasp at his flying feet. 

We give and we take in a cruel way 
And reckon not how the heart is to pay. 
There is bitter loss at the game of hearts — 
And all rules are upset by the lad of darts — 
For the best love loses, the fickle wins. 
And the lad is off to pierce new skins. 

Ay, 'tis a grewsome game, and a coward cries 
And a brave man jokes and laughs and lies, 
"I am not pained and I am not hit. 
This Love, pray, what is the likes of it ? 
It never was and never will be. 
Myself ? I will pay it ne'er a fee !" 

But it hurts and hurts and the world seems wrong 
Where but yesterday was a jolly throng — 
And the happiest there was the happy two 
Who thought to love the whole world through ; 
It may have been you, it may have been I 
Who jostled an old love as we passed by. 
Did we win? Did we lose in the other game? 
By now we can measure the other's pain 
The bitter tears and the aching heart 
Crying so hard for its other part. 

No other love it seemed would do — 
But ah, let thy heart be ever true — 
There is love of love and love of life 
And double love is a name for strife — 
And Love is but born as soon as he dies 
And pain is forever in his eyes 
The Sphinx is his mother — 
The Phoenix his birth. 
This lad is the very scourge of the earth. 



THE CHRYSALID 



THERE IS NO GRIEF. 



There is no grief, O ! world- worn one 
There is no sin or pain ; 
There is but joy and the love of God 
As the sun doth follow the rain. 

Pain is illusion, and matter and sense 

Are born of the evil one 

We cling to the earth and strive for its 

love 
When we should follow the Son. 



FORENSIC. 



Now you and I shall know the pain of years, 
Of pale strange fancies and the gush of tears ; 
Meet moving shadow-shapes and call them men, 
Pause for awhile, and then flit on again. 

Oh, pain and pleasure, soul and sense 
Are winnowed by God's imminence. 



MEDITATION. 



The slow dust of ages, soft drifting, doth 
Encompass all ; still forest ways are sown 
With dust that quickened beauty's pulse. 
Of sages and seers, frail ones — and who is truly 

frail 
Or strong? The silence and long time, alone, 
Can tell who was brave, and who it was that fell. 



THE CHRYSALID 



THE CALL OF THE HILLS. 



Each day is a mood, but the Purpose runs 
Under and over, through all ; 
The hope is unwearied — though slow, sometimes 
It is faint, but it hears the call. 

Tis thus that the wild bird knows 'tis time 
To lift his wings and fly, — 
There's a scent in the air that calls to it 
From a far-off, untried sky. 

The Purpose runs as the stream flows by 
To its level, the moaning sea ; 
And it ever calls to me, true and sweet, 
" Twill soon be time for thee !" 

As the bird braves all for this restless call. 
As the stream must seek the sea — 
As the cloud doth go unresistingly — 
I come, my hills, to thee ! 

They call to me in the wild, dark night 
When the wind doth shake the pane ; 
They call to me by the clear moonlight, 
And my heart calls back again. 

As the arrow is shot from the sharp-bent bow. 
As the sleet that flies in the rain. 
As the sand that doth over the desert blow, 
I toss and cry in my pain. 

For the chain is set, and it chafes so deep. 
And the call doth come so loud, — 
A message I give to the bird so free. 
And one to the sailing cloud. 

The call has been clear through each varying year ; 
The Purpose calleth ever so loud, — 



THE CHRYSALID 



The message is dropped by the high, unseen bird ; 
Anon, by the fleeting cloud. 

And I send blessings back by the winds-messenger 
And again by the cold moonlight's space — 
For the Purpose doth call and draw me on 
To wait there and know my place. 



THE PATH OF THE SEER. 



"They dance the Dance of Death !'' he cried 

And the Stranger strode with fearful stride 

Weaving his paces out and in 

'Mongst famished dancers that did not thin — 

For as one dropped out with graying face 

A dozen clamor to take his place ; 

They dipped and bowed, swaying feather and lace, 

(But the Stranger, — they ne^er did see his face) 

Nodding puppets midst diamond's flash — 

None, oh none of them knew the splash 

Of the fountain's hissing flood 

Was fed with the dying dancer's blood. 

^^I danced it once hut the time was wrong, 
Sure now I can dance it, for I am strong. 
And the music whirls and Desire beats high; 
Come, let us dance it ere we die/' 

Then the Stranger strode with fearful mien 
'Mongst panting dancers and left the scene ; 
But wherever he went in temple or mart 
The cry of the dancers pierced his heart ; 
Of a book ''Let it be of the Dance !" they cried. 
Of music 'The Dance wherein I vied." 
And the step of matron and maid and sire 
Kept time to the Dance of Death and Desire. 



10 THECHRYSALID 



SELF-DENIAL. 



My little unborn child, — love thee ? I love 

thee so 
That I the joy of thee forego. 
I would not call thee from God's breast 
To know the hunger and unrest, 
And search for the nigh unattainable. 
Peace — Love — no fear. 
Ah, these things do not linger here. 
Like golden apples or the crystal stream 
Of Tantalus, we see them, dream 
Of their beauty, then a raven cloud of fear 

and hate 
Seems to blot them out — even at God's gate. 
Seeming, just seeming so, — 
Ah, yes, — I know, — 
But it has seemed so real to be 
I do not make thee dream along with me. 



THE STARS. 



In melody of space the spheres are singing. 
Worlds signal worlds with dazzling, flashing light ; 
Maybe each star for kindred souls is swinging 
Its tavern light to guide the wand'rer right. 

Then those who wish to play the harp may play it, 
Nor trouble those who seek Eternity in dreamless 

sleep. 
Out there each soul may find its heaven fit; 
For virtues sown on earth, at last, a full reward 

may reap. 

I, I would search for some far, tiny star. 
Swinging alone in the immensity of space; 
And up the mountains of the air would travel far — 
And far, searching each light for my own little 
place. 



THECHRYSALID 11 



THE VISION. 



Red war shall stalk no more adown the land ; 
Brother shall cry "Peace!" unto his brother; 
Reason shall rule where white-hot passion shook 
And nations gasped at reeking battlefields, 
And women prayed that God might give them 

death. 
Unhusbanded, unfathered ones—and still 
The Christ cried 'Teace !" Each glorious teacher 
Siddartha, wise one, and the gentle Christ — 
To whom man prays ere he his brother slays. 

The light e'en now is dawning on the world 
When hate will find its banners each one furled. 

Oh^ the web spins out from the soulless one 
Whence birth and death and red hate run — 
God gave them not! and he gave not war! 
Up, brothers, rise! 'tis the daybreak star! 



THE SILVER TRUMPET. 



Standing upon the little mountain's tip — 
It seemed so vastly high. 

Impenetrable from the rumpling plain below, — 
Prescient of heights to come. 

(The Presence calling high and far waked me from 

peaceful slumber 
And the nightmare played about me as I essayed 
To rise and learn the meaning of the silver note.) 

Not all the music could I hear. 

But notes clear, beauteous as naught before 

Came in a silence unborn by air ; 

Matter was left behind — 

And often, — oftener beat the sound of Spirit 

That rose above sound. 



12 THECHRYSALID 

Sense-testimony was not! 

Discredited material things. 

And there I stood upon the mountain's tip 

And watched the morning rise. 

Light stole, and then finger-tips, rose-pointed, o'er 

the sky ; 
And, lo, another peak more beautiful than this I 

stood upon 
Gleamed 'gainst the dawn and promised yet more 

beautiful beyond. 

And clearer rose the silver trumpet's swell. 
And sweet new notes I heard — 
And near at hand there perched a little bird 
Trilling the notes that his wee heart had stirred. 



Infinity, 0, how immense ! 
Love Immeasurable, Omnipotence. 
So, this have I essayed. 
Struggling with pen and words of men 
To record that which is not of but 
for all men. 



GOD'S LOVE. 



God's love is the world's love 

And it tendeth unceasingly ; 

No more shall we cry, *'I will !" or "I would !" 

But ^'Nearer my God to Thee !" 

Near to Thee in peace and good, 

Not by the bar of death ; 

Nearer to Thee by the path of Right — 

'Tis so that we feel thy breath. 



THE CHRYSALID 13 



TO NATURE. 



(Job 12:7-10) 

"But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee, 
And the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee, 
Or speak to the earth, and it shall teach thee. 
And the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee. 
Who knoweth not in all these that the hand of the 

Lord hath wrought this? 
In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, 

and the breath of all mankind." 



Somewhere, I know, are cool waters — flowing 
Rippling streams. Though the City bind and blind 
With its dust and glare and heat, with duties 
And debts that cannot be denied — somewhere 
The fish rise and play at evening's tide 
And the last rays of the sun are caught in 
Glittering irridescence on their sides. 
Somewhere the mink steals to the waterside 
For a drink, or to surprise a minnow. 
Somewhere it is still, save for Nature's sounds. 

To lose one's self in this sacred quiet — 

To come to it with the head bowed and hands 

Clasped to breast — and there slip into it 

All — as the otter slips into stream. 

And there, to become a part of the Whole. 

To leave the deviation of this busy 

Life and seek our Mother — Nature — quietly, 

So as to disturb the poise of nothing. 

Drawing so close to Nature as to feel 

Her very heartbeats, — and sit there seeing. 

Hearing, waiting, dreaming. Satisfied 

With whatever comes — satisfied if nothing 
Comes, — seeking the Cause — waiting the brooding 
Whisper that hesitates in the tense air — 



14 THECHRYSALID 

Not quite expressed — yet Nature's lips tremble 
With the imminence of it, Omniscient, 
Prescient, Nature — with dark, glorious. 
Fathomless eyes — commands us to silence. 

To slip the body as I have in dreams — 
Freed the flesh — desiring to mount the air 
Was to accomplish it. Playful, unbound 
By the corporeal, — rollicking 
In the air as the happy zephyrs play — 
So have I strayed as if in half -transition. 
What if it was not a dream ? What if Death 
Is but slipping the body and passions — 
Th' intensifying our finer senses ? 

To ride on the wings of the sweeping storm, 
Knowing the thunder and moisty odors. 
To go brooding through deep, misty caverns 
Where the bat hides — to know — knowing not fear, 
So, — to sink one's self in the Infinite — 
Would be worth the penalty of life. 

A something — not more than half -forgotten — 

Calls to one from out all Nature. Even 

The dusty weeds with their glooms and rustlings. 

All whisper — ''Dost thou remember? Closer — 

Yet closer — draw nearer and thou wilt know." 

An ecstatic sense so clear and so pure — 

It is so intense, it seems the rending 

Of a gossamer veil were but needed 

And we would know all — would remember all. 



MEMORIES. 



A melody that haunts and clings, 
Telling of forgotten things 
Draws my soul with eagerness 



THECHRYSALID 15 

Onward, forward with a stress, — 
I have known that strain before 
On some far and distant shore. 

Oh, that music, how it thrills 
With intensity that kills 
Past and present, future, — all 
But the memory of its thrall ; 
Sways my soul with raptured pain — 
Was it that old day in Spain ? 
Was it in some forgotten isle 
Where my soul did rest awhile? 
Was it in isles of Paradise 
Where the stately palm trees rise — 
Seeming e'en to touch the skies ? 

Oh, that day! I loved you then! 

You were my own, my god — 'mongst men! 

Centuries may roll and roll. 

But the moonlight on my soul 

Of that strain will always quiver, — 

Happiness at which I shiver. 

I knew not then, but it did say 
*'Love, — be happy for a day ! 
Man — his heart is cased in clay ! 
Love is pain, and life — is death!" 
Was the mingling in its breath. 

Ah, the years, they have been slow, — 

Piled deep with frost and snow. 

A thousand years might come again — 

Happy, happy was I then — 

But I aye would know that strain 

Swaying with its love and pain. 



16 THECHRYSALID 



TO OMAR KHAYYAM. 



Omar, here cometh pilgrims to thy shrine ; 
They come from many lands, they cross the brine. 

Poet, you sang because it pleased you well — 
Recked not your verses would ring clear a bell 

Whose murmurs would sweep 'round beneath 
the Bowl 
Beating rose-haunted air upon a Soul 

That dares to spread its pinions forth and fly 
Into the blank mystery of a "Why ?" 

Content to question, wonder, — not despair; 
And never worry o'er the Why or Where. 

Our wise men classify each thought and whim 
You wondered — and you left the rest to Him : 

Vexed not your mind with little Hows and 
Whys— 
The Whole — you knew — would not tell any lies. 

Content to sleep beneath the blooming rose, 
Trusting to Him who made its petal'd snows. 

Men call you Heathen — you were truly great ! 
You trusted — and you left the rest to Fate ; 

The faith of little children you did share. 
Contented to not sift each Why and Where. 

"Where?" you murmured, "but 'twill all be 
well, 
"Why?" you questioned, then, "He alone can tell. 
"Whence ?" What need to puzzle what we can- 
not read ? 
"Whither?" — He knows where he would each one 
lead. 



THECHRYSALID 17 



I AMI. 



I am I! 
Nor price nor pageant can ever turn — 
Though wavers the master knowledge 
Of my self's clear cry — 

I am I! 

I am I! 

When, parrot-like, I hesitate 
While one cries "Be like me'' — 
And wheels about in self -content — 
Then may my purpose flee. 
I am I! 

I am I! 
I seek to shed, ay, I will be like thee ! — 
Monotony on every side — I can but be like me. 

I am I! 

I am I! 
With the wind that blows — 
I am I with the sea — 
I am I with the driving snows — 

I am I — and free! 



MINE ENEMY. 



Mine enemy ! — you are my friend ! 
My soul strayed from its sphere. 
True friendship was the end and aim — 
The dream that fanned my ear. 

You were my friend while fancy swayed 
Your senses — then, the rebound ; 
Your fickle fancy quickly strayed — 
I was not pliant found. 



IS THECHRYSALID 



A CHANT. 



Make me the prophet of the goldenrod ; 

Of blue-gemmed asters and of roadside dust; 

Of misty purple hills, and sweet cold vain ; — 

Thy messengers to lead us from our pain. 

Oh, Father, take me by the hand and lead 

Me to thy dim-lit groves where every tree 

Doth grow as best it can, unspoiled by man. 

'Neath goodly branches I would sit and dream 

Of worlds long past, and worlds that yet will come. 

My little brothers of the earth and air 

Have each their message if I do but list : 

"The Mighty Plan,'' they whisper each to me, 

"Is good, and grows in beauty as we scan. 

There are no mazes and no voids ; each hath 

Its meaning — e'en the lowliest worm is beautiful 

When studied by the Master's wondrous plan." 

Lonely ? Alone with God's good companies ? — 

A crowd indeed they seem to me. 

So, Father, take me by the hand and lead 

Thy wondering child to know thy mighty creed. 



THE HEART OF THINGS. 



The Heart of Things is Eternal Good, 

It spelleth peace and rest. 

We seek it near and we seek it far 

For the ones we love the best. 

We delve so deep — e'en to the heart of stars- 

To find this puzzle's key. 

But baffled ever, though learning much, 

Dear Heart, we find not Thee. 

Then one sweet day the light gleams clear — 

We understand many things — 

The Heart of Things is Eternal Good — 

Truth holds us 'neath its wings. 



THECRYSALID 19 



PRAIRIE COMRADES. 



When the moon swings high and the wind sings low 

And sweeps o'er the prairie grass, 
Its fingers run through the corn's golden row, 

And caress my cheeks as I pass. 
Then the ponies' hoofs beat a monotone 
As we swing o'er the prairie, — we three alone. 

For *'God is good" and the prairie is wide 

And the spirit of it flows on beside; 

It whispers to me when the rain beats down 

And drenches each one from foot to crown : 

I put on the curtains and fasten the snaps. 

To the wind's overture and the thunder-claps ; 

Then, wrapped in my rain-coat, with sturdy boots. 

We swing along as the lightning shoots 

Its zig-zags down the blackened sky. 

And we sing heigho ! My ponies and I. 

The ducks are coming ; long flocks of geese 
Swing on and on, nor seem to cease. 
Last night, by the moonlight's silver glow, 
They came on and on, o'er the cornfields, low. 
Their querulous honk and clatter sped on 
'Till it hung o'er us and then was gone. 
The moonlight burnished each traveler bright 
And their pathway south was a path of light ; 
Its sheen lit my ponies' creamy sides, 
And we swung along at wild, glad strides. 

One night before, — 'twas but two or three, — 
My ponies trotted along with me ; 
And the moon, almost full, shed its silver glow. 
And the sun dropped, blood-red, o'er the prairie, 

slow. 
Then the moon's silver flood and the sun's red tide 
Mingled and lit the prairie wide. 



20 THE CHRYSALID 

Twas a chieftain's night and his emblem by right, 
Hung just o'er where the sun dropt out of sight; 
A cloud war-bonnet of eagle's feathers 
Blazoned above us and hung by soft tethers. 
Now, this we saw, my ponies and I, — 
As we sought for the road while the moon swung 
high. 

Sometimes an owl springs up at their feet. 
Then a startled patter their small hoofs beat. 
Oh, the prairie is wide, but a section line 
Straightens our tangles by dinner time. 
Then on and on o'er the dusty road 
They creep along with their tired load ; 
And down in a draw a wolf sings out 
And the air is frosty and I would shout 
My comradeship to this lusty scout. 

But we turn instead, awake and alert. 
At the home road's bend and see the flirt 
In the corn, of a coyote's brush 
And his eyes gleam out of the corn-row's flush. 
He looks but a second and then is gone. 
But the ponies see him ere he flees on ; 
Then into the barn to their corn and hay, 
O, ponies ! but we've seen sport today ! 



TWILIGHT IN OKLAHOMA. 



Sunset of opal and rose and gold, 
White mist, rose-kissed, so fair ! 

Turquoise and velvet amethyst; 
Love hides in your hair. 

O, Maiden tall ! The white lights shine 
And sparkle diamond- wise ; 

A lover's bliss lies in each kiss 
And love laughs in your eyes. 



THECHRYSALID 21 



VERSES ON COVER OF OUTDOOR LIFE. 



Looking away o'er the barren sands — 

A world-old quest is there ; 

Impassive, mystic, — proud he stands; 

Subtle and sad — a lonly pair. 

— Forefathers, my gains 

Are some drops of your blood in my eager veins. 



Centuries many they have rolled by 
Since your lone vigil swept the sky 
And the hills and the silent plains. 

A lonely quest. What is it ye seek 

To unfold to your sight 

In the golden light? 

Silent and far the hills they run — 

What wonder is it they worship the sun ? 

To horizon and sun — and back again; 

Mystery boundless, — none may explain 

To these lone cliff-dwellers who search and strain 

Their eyes at that distant speck. 

Is it friend or foe ? 

Will the coming be for weal or woe ? 

For answer his eyes they seek the sun — 

What will it be when the day is done ? 

A majesty bred by the silent plain — 
Ready for feast or burial strain ; 
Impassive in life, inspiring in death; 
What learn ye, stern watchers ? 
What is't the sun saith? 



22 THECHRYSALID 



THE LAST. 



The last leaf on the tree ; 
The last day in the year ; 
The last page in the book ; — 
The last and parting tear. 

The last bell as it tolls 
The dying year's sad knell 
Chimes for the gay young year 
A gallant tune as well. 

The last white floating cloud 
Baring the soft, blue sky ; 
The last swift darting bird — 
Last from the nest to fly. 

The last day — ah, fond heart ! 
What is that amiss? 
No more to love or hate 
Or grieve — oh, think of this ! 



SONG. 

Heartaches and heartbreaks, 
Why do you come i to me? 
Heartaches and heartbreaks, 
Far from you I would flee. 

Some there are happy. 
Some from care are so free; 
Heartbreakes and heartaches, 
Why do you flock to me ? 

Heartbreakes and heartahces, 
Cause fond lovers to sigh. 
Out with you heartaches 
And heartbreakes — fly ! fly ! fly ! 



THECHRYSALID 23 



CASTLES IN THE AIR. 



"On the hillside broad and ample 
There my fairy palace stands." 

Dreams and hopes the weary mortal, 
Tired head and toil-worn hands. 

Oh, the waiting and the wishing 

For the longed for happy goal — 

Tasks so heavy, burdens weary, 

Daunt the brave and willing soul. 

Bound and weary, gazing, longing, 
At the wistful dream in stress, 

Hope deferred, renunciation. 

Bend and work, for time doth press. 

Duties grow apace and bind one 
To the weary wheel of strife 

Till the longing, tired person 

Doubts if 'tis, this simple life. 

Trying hard to do his duty, 

Helping each his ship bring trim ; 
Straining eyes far in the gloaming. 

No, there is no ship for him. 

Heaven, it would just be heaven. 

With a cottage and some books; 

Far away from strife and turmoil. 
In this quietest of nooks. 

Wanting, just a hillside cottage. 

With some books, and earth to stir, 

Lily-bells, and nodding clover 

Naught but swallows' wings to whirr. 



24 THECHRYSALID 



THE HEIGHTS. 



Lonely art thou ? Forswear thy goal. 
Seek thou flesh-comradship ? 
A comprehension of thy Soul ? 
Alas ! the heights are rarely trod, 
The many seek the fertile sod. 
The master-stroke is seldom struck — 
The feast of gods is not for ruck. 
A Soul- wave quivers o'er the World: 
Few rise to it — their banners furled, 
Forgotten, cast aside. The wave's passed on 
And laps the Heights. The flying swan 
May hear it murmur to a Soul 
That faints but for its echo's roll. 

Lonely art thou ? Ne'er seek the Height 
Who is not guerdoned up to fight 
The Shadows that would kill the Light. 
The Sacred Fire can never burn upon 
The altar that is unsanctified 
By offerings of passions — sins ; 
To rise as incense; rarefied 
By the fierce sacrificial fire. 



Lonely art thou? Lone is the quest 
For one who seeks the eagle's nest. 



THE SPELL. 



The spell is over the woodland and the spell is 

over me — = 
It calls with a wild sweet patience that we are one 

and free. 
The brotherhood of Nature — of waving corn and 

grass — 
Of blue hills far and misty — of crickets in the 

grass. 



THECHRYSALID 25 



A PRAYER. 



If there be good in what I seek 
Give me the merit of thy grace; 
If there be good in what I do, 
Help me to find my place ! 

If there be good in what I seek, 
Help me to find my way ! — 
A stranger in a strange, strange land ; — 
Oh, God, show me the way! 

There is a path seems good to me, 
And yet ten brambles spring 
To fill the place of one I kill 
Ere yet 'tis evening. 

My highest good doth seem to lie 
Along this narrow path; 
It seems to lead most straight to Thee — 
The glowing aftermath. 

" Tis not the way thy Master is !'' 

All else doth cry aloud. 

And yet, something,— -my heart ? my soul ? 

To this path seemeth vowed. 

If there be good in what I do. 
Oh, Father, give me strength to go 
Unto the end — my place to fill ! 
My Father, guide me still ! 



MY TREES. 



Stately and fair my trees arise 
From dusky aisles to pierce the skies 
And clouds of clear, wind-driven rain 
Like white smoke spraying. 



26 THECHRYSALID 



A PRAYER. 



Oh, thou, the Infinite! Lead, God, my faltering 

steps ! 
Fears clutch my heart, and yet I cry, "Lead Thou 

me on !" 
The path unfolds before my questioning gaze. 
The mists roll back at Thy command, — 
Father, the way does seem so dark, hold Thou my 

hand! 

Oh, thou Most High! 

Lead up my groveling thought that clings to dust ! 

Teach me to scan the sky of pure Infinity, 

And be not dazzled by the lesser lights of earth 

That call and cry 

And goad with darts that pierce the heart. 

Beaten and blindfold, but some light I see; 
Father, oh, lead me unto Thee ! 



MY DREAM-HOME. 



My dream-home lies within the hills 

Whose rocky, wooded sides 

Hold whispers of the mighty gods — 

Themselves in shadows bide 

And council in the golden sun 

That spots the forest ways 

With arabesques of gold on green, 

And pale flowers in the shade. 

The tiny stream that ripples down 

From out the hill's gaunt side. 

Makes music all the livelong day, 

And little fish do hide 

In the clear, darkling pools that stay 

Awhile where fairies bide 

To preen their charms. 

And then, — fare far away. 



THECHRYSALID 27 



SUNDOWN. 



Yes, I steer for the port of Sundown 
As the ripples rise and fall, 
Where the rose and gold is blended 
And I hear the wild birds call. 

Yea, I sail for the port of Sundown 
And my boat lies 'gainst the sky. 
As the ebon branch 'fore the sunset 
Wherein rose and gold doth vie. 



MISSOURI-LAND. 



Missouri-land, my mother-land! 
None sing of any fairer land. 

Thy hills and valleys filled with peace- 
Words cannot tell, and pen must cease. 

My mother-land, Missouri-land! 
The weary wanderer sees thy band 

Of yellow hills, that rise and roll 
To meet the skies and greet the soul. 

Weary of other lands, Missouri-land, 
Home do we come, thou fairest land ; 

And thank God for Missouri-land. 
Home comes thy happy, loving band. 

Eager to go, thrice eager to return 
To thee, land of hill and burn ; 

Of tinkling spring, and mighty river ; 
Of luscious fruit — thou gentle giver. 

Missouri-land! fair mother-land! 
Words cannot tell, none understand. 
How I love thee, my mother-land! 



28 THECHRYSALID 



LONELY. 



Night time, alone on the prairie, 
And the shadows come and go, — 
Night-time, alone on the prairie — 
And the wind croons on so slow ; 
And then it sweeps with insistence — 
Ripples and billows and falls — 
While the wolf howls off in the distance. 
And my heart to your heart calls. 

'Tis only a lonesome fancy — 

But I pain for you to be near, 

Tis only a foolish fancy — 

But I long your voice to hear. 

And the wind beats on in the night-time, 

And the wind croons on so slow, — 

The old wind of the Northland 

Bearing down with a burden of snow. 

A prairie fire glows in the distance, 

A gas well flickers and flares, 

A coal in the rusty stove goes red 

And the cat just lies and stares. 

I sigh, what's the use of sighing? 

I would cry, — who would care if I did ? 

There is pain that is past all dying 

When your heart from my heart is hid. 



BUTTERFLIES. 



Thrilling with joy of the mating. 
Celestial, yet sprung from a worm, 
Ov^er the grass a-fluttering. 
Troop the butterflies a-swarm. 



THE CHRYSALID 



THE SOUL-FLOWER. 



The soul-flower blooms upon the height — 
To pluck it does not cause its blight ; 
Tis unlike an earth-born flower 
That withers when its stem is brok'n, 
Even for virgin's bower. 

It makes renunciation sweet 
To pluck the flower few may meet, 
And hide it glowing in the breast. 
The world may go and take the rest 
That wither in a day. 

This Spirit-flower but brighter grows, 
Radiance from its pure cup flows ; 
Unearthly light — unearthly bloom — 
It leads the martyr through the gloom 
Eager at Love's own quest. 

It bloomed within Christ's eager soul; 
It makes the cross a very goal ; 
It lights the pathway to the Grail. 
Weary we seek it on the trail 
That leads unto the heights. 

The pathway hard that few may dare — 
Precipice, boulder, lightnings flare 
Upon the very topmost peak. 
Yonder it grows, the flower you seek ! 
You whom the world calls mad. 

My Father, then, I pray ! I pray ! 

For guidance on this Spirit way — 

There grows the immortal flower 

Whose bloom doth soothe the captive's hour. 

Truth is the name of this rare flower. 



30 THECHRYSALID 



THE PASTURE-LOT. 



Down in the thicket when the night bids fair, 
The owl hoots merry and the mice beware. 

The whip-poor-will wheels and calls to his mate ; 
The dusk there is heavy with brooding fate. 

The snake there glides close to the old tree's 

stump — 
Among fern and berry in tangled clump. 

The fox barks sharp to his wary red mate — 
Deep down in the wood near the pasture gate. 



THE CHANGING SEASONS. 



A floating, gray, inconstant cloud. 
Fleeing before the wind, 
Doth herald in another time; 
A season comes behind 
That trailing, flying mist. 
It heralds in the driving rain. 
The wild goose' hurrying flght — 
The ducks' swift rocket past the sight 
Straight into the night. 

The changing seasons softly come — 

And just as softly go; 

A summer breeze flits through the trees, 

And then, the falling snow. 

The breeze it whispers a farewell ; 

The snow came drifting down. 

And burdened all the cherry leaves — 

A frosting on a crown 

That late did gleam with red. 



THECHRYSALID 31 



TO MARY BAKER EDDY. 



Hail, Deliverer! 
As captives in the chains of sense 
We lay condemned to death most vile. 
Hast ever thought the temples where 
Today we lift our voices high 
To thank our God had ne'er been raised 
But for her loving thought of us? 
''Decay and death !" sad custom cried. 

Sensebound and sodden, 
Praying to a hard, dumb God 
Who ne'er did stay the falling rod — 

and then you came 

And led us through the flame — 

Our own red sea of sin and pain and shame. 

Oi sin, when every good impulse seemed fled. 

Of pain that racked us while we bled. 

Of death— where would our children cry for bread ? 

We live! we walk! 
You raised us each one from the dead. 
We find each day some good to do — 
We praise our God because of you. 
Tongues that have cried ''There is no God !" 
Now sing His praises "The living God." 



"EACH MAN HIS PRISON MAKES.'' 

___________ — Sir Edwin Arnold. 

I built my prison with fond hands 
And marveled at its beauty rare ; 
To me it seemed a Palace grand — 
Its turrets piercing heaven's air. 

I marveled at its mighty strength — 
Could these frail hands build aught so fair ? 
My Palace and my Heart's Delight ! 
Let danger come ! What need I care ? 



32 THECHRYSALID 

My Palace strong would hold me safe 
From every danger that beset ! 
I hearkened only to my heart — 
The ills of life I would forget. 

Oh, Love and Faith were builded in 
Each towering, mounting wall; 
Here sin and death could enter not — 
Sooner the stars would fall! 

I reasoned out with happy faith — 
Named it the 'Talace of My Soul," 
And built an altar in that place — 
Ah, hearken ! how the sad bells toll ! 

They ring a sad and funeral dirge ! 
Alas, I thought 'twas happy chimes. 
Alone, those bells would ring. 
And never know these hapless rhymes. 

I gloried in my castle tall — 
The gates I locked tight and secure ; 
The key — I blessed the happy key 
That made all safe and left me sure. 

My Prison walls I beat upon 
And dash myself in fruitless grief; 
Through steely bars my breath comes short — 
Alas, and is there no relief? 

A Prison built in happy Youth 
With Youth's fond faith cementing it — 
Somewhere, somehow, — by God's good grace ! 
There lies the key to open it ! 



The key! the key! the golden key Christ placed 
within my hand. 



THECHRYSALID 33 

"Patience and love, humility, child, you will under- 
stand. 

My cross I bore, your cup drink up, — Love giveth 
joy unknown — 

No dregs are there, it sweeter grows till bitterness 
is flown." 

Rising above the pains of sense and evidence un- 
true 

The prison doors are opened wide, the Christ has 
led me through. 



MY LADY OF DELIGHT. 



I am sure, quite sure, in the long ago 
She inspired that man of the brush, Watteau. 
She'd a stately way with her flash and go — 
And she won many hearts in the long ago. 

Her hair was powdered a snowy white. 
And her heart was pure as her glance was bright ; 
Her wit did puzzle full many a knight ; — 
Poor moths, they were scorched at the candle's 
Kght. 

She'd an infinite way that I know cannot die 
Tho' 'tis centuries since — but those years are a lie ; 
For there's the cabinet tall standing close by the 

wall — 
And here is the fan — and I hear her footfall. 

Oh, her heart was true 'neath that pink brocade. 

And the artist knew her a winsome maid 

In those days of courts with their laughter and 

jest;— 
And the king stopped his cards to hear her request. 
Watteau made her immortal in pink brocade — 
And slipped in too by the luck of his trade. 



34 THECHRYSALID 



A VALENTINE. 



For old times' sake I send you this, 

My comrade good and true! 

How oft we've fought on battlefields 

And made the Indian ,rue 

His love for white men's blood and scalps ; 

And then gone trooping home 

To lure the cookies from the shelf 

And on the back steps roam 

Again the bloody battlefield 

Where we had made the red man yield. 

A valentine I send to you 

And ask you to be young 

Again on this one day — then you 

And I scorned such as Love — 

We wanted only to be friends ; 

Let us be friends alway. 

Then here's to you for "auld lang syne," 

My childhood chum and friend! 

Long may you live, and happy die ! 

A greeting good I send. 



CLEAR CREEK CANYON. 



Threading our way through the mountains 
From the city's hum we go ; 

Up through Clear Creek Canyon 
To peaks of eternal snow. 

The rail has conquored the mountain, 
Its fastnesses soon are found: 

Man, the Lilliputian, 

Climbs the thread to the giant's crown. 

We looped the loop at Georgetown — 
The grandest loop in the world; 



THECRYSALID 35 

Then on — on — up the mountain — 
While below the waters curled; 

Curled and beat into feathers, 

Beat until cotton it seemed ; 
Pale green water — I fancy, 

Here the water fairies dream. 

The trout leaps in the water — 

I thought 'twas a water fay ; 
The wild rose, dwarfed and clustered, 

Is clumped along the way. 

Miners with pick and shovel 

Learn secrets the mountain would keep 
While up — far up — above them 

The snows in silence sleep. 

The pines point up — far upward — 

To lakes hid in the clouds ; 
To the little mountain village. 

Silver Plume — in a silver shroud. 

Silver plumes — they are all about us — 

Cloud ones trailing slow ; 
The plume-beat spray of Clear Creek 

And mountains banked with snow. 



A FRAGMENT. 



A forest cot on a virgin sod. 
Away from man and near to God ; 
To learn, not teach. 
And see, — not reach, — 
A flower God made 
In the forest shade. 



36 THECHRYSALID 



THE WINDS. 



The Winds quiver and search — complaining low — 
Grey old Fates, that weep and wail : 
Bent and haggard — ^mumbling slow with toothless 
jaws 

Full many a tale 

That makes us quail; 
Scandals the centuries have paid 
In blood and death, dishonor and raid. 
On the edge of the roof they weep and wail 
In glee o'er the hapless pitiful tale. 

Of human hearts, and sins and pains — 
These ghoulish Fates of the winds and rains. 
Rising in shrieks of gibber and laugh — 

They rock themselves, 

And peer in the panes 
For another tale to the grizzly staff. 
They perch themselves on the window's edge — 
And howl and shriek, and hug themselves 
With joy at the sin and shame they know. 
Honor and love — into none of these delves 
These fateful hags as they rock themselves. 



THE MIST. 



The mist came on like a soft gray rain and hung in 

the silent air. 
The shocks of kaffir with millioned stems did seem 

an encampment there. 
All reeked with mist, — on the pumpkin's sides 

drops came from the heavy air. 
Grew globulous, trembled and slid to the jeweled 

weed — 
The soft black earth, — ^and a flower was born most 

fair. 



THECHRYSALID 37 



THEIR MISSIONS. 



Bee and bird and blossom, 
Each hath its vision and hour; 
The eagle on soaring pinions, 
The humming bird o'er the flower. 
The bee, asip at the clover, 
Hath its mission to flower and hive ; 
It questions not ''Master, or maker?'' 
For its queen it goes forth to strive. 
The blossom gives in its fullness 
To bee and to bird on the wing — 
To happy little children 
And butterflies hovering. 
The eagle striketh his quarry 
For nestlings on mountain-top; 
The humming bird bringeth honey 
To babes cradled in fragrant hop. 



When the locust sings then Summer is come,- 
Deep-eyes, full-bosomed and slow; 
She trails with her languorous steps along 
And smiles where the poppies grow- 
When the locust sings. 



The beauty of the locust's thrill lies not in the message 
it conveys to its mate. I draw not my inspiration from 
this. There is a spiritual and also adolescent resonance 
that sums the wholesome material satisfaction in its very 
highest sense — so high that it leaves us in deepest medita- 
tion of the Almiighty Spiritual. 

Tis my Gabriel of the insect world. I think there is 
ever some compelling thing if we but partly give ourselves 
to its beauty that would lead us to our higher, real selves, 
and mergement with Reality — God. 

This little Gabriel cries to me, "Awake! Awake!" and 
under it runs this current murmuring "Dream a little 
first." 



THE CHRYSALID 



THE TALE OF JEWELS. 



Diamonds. 

A tear of love that's crystalized — 
A drop of summer dew 
Pierced by a ray of polar light 
Oft binds the love of two. 



Turquoise. 

A bit of Heaven's own fleecy blue, 
Plucked from a Summer sky 
By rosy cupids, rose entwined, 
And dropped by them on high — 
The greedy elves then picked it up 
And buried it close by. 



The Ruby. 

Blood from the heart of a murdered queen- 
None rivals the ruby in its sheen; 
A diamond, until her hearts quick throes 
Stained it — and then it shamed the rose. 



The Goldstone. 

Emblem of gold for which men die — 
A gleam from out a tiger's eye ; 
The gold for which man sells his soul 
Shines from thy depth — apregnant whole. 



Pearls. 

Through quivering seas 
The moon rays filtered 
And pierced the coral caves ; 
Giving their luster to the Peaks — 
Orient dreams, to bind the brows 
Of gleaming, dark-eyed girls. 



THECHRYSALID 39 



Garnet and Amber. 

Fragrant wines 

That took their beauty from the vines 

Of which old Omar bravely sung 

And gave to earth his benison 

Of fragrant, liquid gems. 

Sapphires and Emeralds. 

The regal sapphire's perfect blue 
But makes me think of you — of you. 
So clarified and pure it seems 
It must have been distilled in dreams 
But the fair goddess of the sky, 
To rival the queen of emeralds — 
Earth's challenge sent on high. 



These precious stones are so beset 
With human passions they chafe and fret 
And long to shine outside their prison's dark con- 
fine. 

THE NEW YEAR. 



'Tis New Year on the prairie, 
Tis New Year in the shack, 
Tis New Year in the cabin, 
Tis New Year on the rack. 

'Tis New Year on the sea's white foam, 
'Tis New Year in the town, 
'Tis New Year in the palace, 
'Tis New Year up and down. 

To each and every one of you 

I cry a glad New Year ; 

Of hearts and friends and lovers true— 

A grand and good New Year ! 



40 THECHRYSALID 



THE MUTE INTERPRETER. 



I 



Winds whisper gently at the close of day, 

Or roar triumphant through the weaving trees; 

The sky, forbid the sun, is leaden gray. 

The wild grape calls its sweets to honey-bees. 

The heart of nature whispers tales to me, — 

Yet none will listen to the things I hear ; 

I bear a message from the bird and bee. 

From wind-swept heavens, and from sunlight clear. 

Strawberries, in the dew-sweet grass, 
Call out their message as I pass. 
None care to hear the happy song I sing. 
Whispered to me by branches' swing. 
Glinting sunbeams whisper low 
Of the many things they know. 

None care to know, and yet I know, can tell — 
Dumb must I sit— none care to hear my song. 
Filled with the whispers of the wild wind's throng 
Beating the branches of the trees along. 



"See what I bear on my bosom," the flooding river 

said, 
"Hosts of rich provisions, a baby's little bed, — 
Sheep and cattle and horses, the pigs within the 

sty. 
Overlord, landlord and creditor, — the mighty one 

am I. 
They promise to pay when the note is due hut the 

crop goes down in my arms — 
Crop and cattle and horses — the labor of tired 

arms. 



THECHRYSALID 41 

Man shall harness the power of the river — the 
river shall do him good ; 

Horses and sheep and cattle, — at his call the wild 
boar stood. 

For God gave man dominion, and man is learning 
that power 

Is given to him in plenty and not for a little hour. 

The factories rise by the river which escaped but 
a little while 

With the dream of an evil demon along each flood- 
ing mile. 

Now, listen to me, my children, not the river alone, 
must learn; 

You and I, yes, each one, must our pride into ser- 
vice turn; 

Turn it to help each other — our dominion must al- 
ways be good. 

Else the teacher comes and shows us until it is 
understood. 



INCANTATION. 



Oh, "light that ne'er was seen on land or sea,'' 

Send thy fair radiance out to me ! 

Memories from out the caverns of the past — 

Rise ! ghost-clouds white, and hold me fast ! 

Fast in thy folds encircle me. 

And let me dream of that which used to be : 

Of valiant knights on Field of Gold ; 

Of maidens fair for love grown cold ; 

Of palfreys decked in crimson trappings, 

And stern duennas caught a-napping; 

Of cavemen fierce — so long ago — 

And cavebear slain by savage blow. 

Rise ! Rise ! ye ghost-clouds, let me in ! 

I would a little while to dream. 



42 THECHRYSALID 



DUTY. 

Tis Duty, fond Duty, 
Relentlessly driving 
Its wheels o'er the mortals 
Who rose up in pride. 
Tis Duty— just Duty, 
Sparing not age or beauty — 
Its Juggernaut wheels 
Tear the heart from the side. 

Cold, passionless Duty! 
Ah, who may escape it 
And hold up his head. 
Meet his fellow-man's eye? 
Like the wolf that of old 
Tore the Spartan lad's vitals- 
It gnaws, — and we smile 
As we lay down to die. 



THE GOD OF ALL THINGS. 



Plowing and sowing and reaping, the God of all 

Things goes — 
He plows and sows in the thunder, he sows and 

reaps in the snows. 
His purpose is hid when the knife flies, when it 

twists in the cut He is there — 
(How can mortals guess of His Purpose when they 

beg for the weather fair?) 

Plowing and sowing and reaping the Master of all 

Things goes — 
His Purpose is over our weeping — He bridles the 

hills and the snows. 
He masters the passions of Nations — He holdeth 

the gnat in His clasp — 
He knoweth all things and their stations — He is 

the Lock and the Key and the Hasp. 



THECHRYSALID 43 



SWALLOWS. 



Swallows in the evening air — 

Sun's last ray a-tipping fair 

Light, with rose and gold a-glimmer, 

Back and forth the swallows shimmer. 

f 

Winged shuttle gliding fast 
Leads my errant thought at last, 
Leads my thought with darting pinion 
Up from earth and man's dominion. 

Soon will thy airy weaving cease — 
Then to my chimney flit in peace; 
Thy nestlings there sit all a-quiver 
For food from out that airy river. 

Down from rose and gold-tipped sky. 
Straight as an arrow thou dost fly ; 
Safe, in the chimney's sooty deep. 
There fold thy wings for dreamy sleep. 



IN CHILDHOOD. 



A little maid in gingham dress, 
I roamed the country wide ; 

There learning God's and Nature's plan — 
Close to my father's side. 

The rain-washed, cloud-swept sky was mine- 
The dark and silent wood — 

The baby snake, the little fish — 
I knew, and understood. 

Learned of their little hopes and fears — 
Learned of the pain they felt ; 

The violet's bloom — the pebble white — 
Tales of a thousand years. 



44 THECHRYSALID 

Learned that my God and Nature, too, 
Were one, and the self -same. 

The ground-hog in the dim-lit wood, 
He fled as near I came. 

The turkey's call — the wild duck's flght — 
The swift, and driving rain ; 

The mocking-bird on hedge did sing 
Of love and all its pain. 

The red-winged black-bird flashed in light, 
'Mongst willows thick, and sedge ; 

The blue-bird flitted on, its fright 
Ne'er made it leave the edge 

Of roadside fair, bright and sunlit 
After Spring's gentle rain. 

The old rail fence its treasures held — 
To wander there I'd fain. 



THE FOOL'S RHAPSODY. 



Players and masks ! The thoughts we read 

Into these vapid faces, 

And play upon our hopes and fears 

With thoughts our fancy places ! 

The grinning mask may hide a fool 

Worse than aught the mask discovers. 

It palls me overmuch to think 

That student's mask may hide a head 

'Twould shame the, ass for brother. 

Minerva's face may be a sad misfit. 

Again, well, it may fit her. 

And then again, perhaps, my friend, — 

A foolish fancy may have bit her. 



THECHRYSALID 45 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



The setting sun — 

And the hills that run 

Far into the evening sky ; 

And the purple haze 

Of these perfect days 

That lingers when day is by ; 

The cloud that trails 

Like a boat that sails 

To the far-off hunting grounds, 

Where the Manitou 

Will welcome Sioux 

And Apache too — 

And pale-faces not be found. 

Let us steal in that boat — 
And with it float 
Straight into the far-off blue, 
Where the warrior brave, 
And his dark-skinned maid 
Paddle their lone canoe. 



OPHELIA^S LAMENT. 



A butterfly is man's desire; 
But seek to hold it — and 'tis crushed ! 
Inert and lifeless, fragile thing, — 
Worthless as puff of dust. 

Man's constancy — 'twas never known! 

Save to himself. 

With women's hearts the fleld is strown, 

Trampled and wrecked. 

Sad playthings of the gods and fates, 

A satyr crowns their low estates. 



46 THECHRYSALID 

A butterfly is man's desire, 
A-seeking here and there, 
O'er lihes fair and roses rare 
Sweets that but once they bear. 

A satyr wanders o'er the field 
Agrin at what his quest may yield. 
A rose he scatters here and there — 
"Ah, lady, you w^ere passing fair ! 
Your heart you balanced in the test — 
Ill-faith, you thought, was but a jest. 
You won him. Did you keep him long ?" 
*'He tarried only for a song." 



THERE IS NO CHANCE. 



There is no Chance ! We move as gods or mice. 

Ay, take your Destiny, my man, and change it in 
a trice. 

Argiope-like, we central stand, shaking at every 
fear. 

Or manly, God-like choose our path, our Destiny 
is here. 

The Web has many, many paths, intricate cross- 
designs 

Lead back and forth. A brave man ne'er resigns. 

Beaten, he rises strong again, knowing he cannot 
fail, 

For, lo, the Master's hand is here guiding the foot- 
steps frail. 

The dust of flesh and sensuous thought smother, 
but cannot kill. 

A brave man rises in God's might and seeks to do 
His will. 



THECHRYSALID 47 



A STEP. 



I dreamed I dwelt in many marts, 
Knew many men and read their hearts, 
I bargained and I bought and sold — 
Heaped and decreased my stock of gold. 
Sometimes a voice did linger near. 
Compelling, sweet, unearthly clear — 
It breathed 'Teace !'' when I questioned wild — 
In its broad soft flood I was but a child. 
Years of pain and toil and grief were swept away 
in its sweet relief. 

It was not of men — ^f or by men I had sworn — 
I knew it was born of a holier morn. 
Insistent, compelling, it gave release 
And I forward strode in the path of Peace. 

And then long years I strode in that other step — 
Ay, the bitter part of it lingers yet — 
'Twas the vengence cry against my brother, 
"I can not love him, my Father!" 

I had been wronged, and I beat the gate 
That barred the path as I hugged my hate. 

"Your Brother love ! his is a heavy load — 
His sin and your anger's goad. 
Hatred and bitterness alone 
Bar your next step to the throne." 

My brother suffered ? The thought was new. 

I turned in pity to lead him through ^ 

The swamp wherein I had almost sunk. 

His pain like mine? and I had drunk 

Of the waters of Life and denied my brother ! 

Now, am I shriven, 0, my Father! 



48 THECHRYSALID 



THE PRICE OF CAIN. 



Cain strides triumphant through the world today, 

he rules by slaying Abel, 
While Abel, patient, dumb and meek, doth spread 

his brother's table. 
The Cain stands high and rules his man — his 

brother of the fable — 
Dull, patient Abel prays to God and crowds the ox 

for stable. 

Abel doth know and heed his God — he feeleth 

power in Him — 
While Cain doth smile and urge him on — close to 

the very rim. 
Hunger, injustice, anger's sting — Cain heapeth all 

on him — 
Till Abel, strong with God's own strength, doth 

rend him limb from limb. 

The patience of the lowly meek, based on the sense 
of right. 

Is strong, enduring sting of shame until God bids 
him fight. 

His hardened hands, his sinewed back, his knowl- 
edge of God's might 

Doth give him many millioned hands that rules 
the battle's height. 

For God in time doth sure prevail and lead the 

steadfast on — 
The God that Cain doth hold to scorn doth cast 

him from the dawn. 
In nightmare of ill-gotten gains he revels in his 

sleep 
Till angels cometh with the dawn and rend them 

from his keep. 



THECHRYSALID 49 

Anger, injustice, hunger, cold, — ay, beauty from 

him taken — 
But that he knows and knows and knows, 'twould 

seem he were forsaken. 
But God speaks out an thunder tones, "This day 

have I thee chosen,'' 
Drives out the Cain with thunder wild — nor lets 

him lace his hosen. 

Sad, patient brother of the right, thy heritage is 

Christ! 
Thy crucifixion comes each day, by brother Cain 

'tis priced. 
He puts the weights on; every one by brother 

Cain is laid. 
Until the radiance of the dawn doth cause God's 

peace be made. 



The price of Cain is his brother's blood and the 

curse of Cain is his gore. 
The earth doth thirst and lick it up as it pours 

forth more and more, — 
But God is there and He curseth Cain, curseth his 

endless greed 
And the scales swing back and the price is paid, — 

his gain doth his brother feed. 



FAITH. 

Why should we beat God's ear with this sad prayer 
"Thou knowest, God, we've done our utmost 

share." 
He knows. He knows ! Well, let thy clamor cease. 
If merit's in you, God will give you lease. 
Rather have faith like any little child 
Whose tender mother sooths its fancies wild; 
Reckon not heaven is this or that ! God 
knows 'tis well ! Then leave the rest to God. 



50 THECHRYSALID 



KNITTING. 



She is sitting alone and knitting, 
While the moments slow pass by. 
She is sitting, so still, and knitting — 
So fast the needles fly. 

"An old, old woman," I hear you say, 
'*Bent jand toothless, haggard and gray ; 
Fit occupation for life's soft close — 
A mother of men, — a withered rose. 

Time was, she was young and fresh and strong- 
Her step was busy all day long. 
She baked and brewed, spun linen and wove — 
For each and all she bravely strove. 

Life at its close in the chimney-seat. 
Sheltered and safe, she sits replete — 
Crowned with love, her work well done — 
Waiting the setting of life's sun.'' 

It is not so — she is full of life. 
But weary, how weary of the strife — 
She tried so hard, and what are her gains? 
What has she now for all her pains ? 

Life looked good to her in the days of youth — 

She would prove it so ! alas, forsooth ! 

Twas proven, the answer, rue. 

What had she now with the world to do ? 

^'Before God and men!'^ her heart cried sad, 

^^I proved my creed and found it bad. 

I tried for right and reap only ill. 

For myself, there is left my heart to hilL 



THECRYSALID 51 



PREMONITION. 



Today as I gazed before me, thinking I know not 

what, — 
A vision flashed before my eyes, a quiet, restful 

spot. 

'Twas a pleasant street, trees bowered, — their 

arches high above 
Held a brooding peace and quiet — a home for the 

wood dove. 

I knew the trees' stately branches hid elegance 

and ease; 
I knew brightly gleaming silver mirrored a rich, 

dark frieze. 

I knew the library held all the books that I loved 

best — 
Yet my heart was sad and heavy, for a vague and 

sad unrest. 

Stirred my yearning and wild fancies — the child- 
ren of my dreams; 
Say was it premonition ? — of Fame a tiny gleam ? 

The fame I have longed and prayed for to buy a 

forest stream. 
Is this the quip of Life's fancy ? More than wild 

hills 'twould buy — 

Yet my heart is sad and heavy — e'en Fame each 

one must buy ; 
Buy, and find the price o'er heavy — the reckoning 

too high. 

I'd barter for something simple — and this, then, 
come to me ? 



52 THECHRYSALID 

Grow old with heart's desire thwarted — ^hear 
"Life gives this to thee !" 

Is this then Life's stern lesson — ''rough hew them 

as we may," 
Ever, anon, the answer is gone out from our 

hands alway? 



DISOWNED. 



Down on the bed of the river 
The tiny course sways with the larger- 
Down on the bed of the river 
For lodgment they do not charge. 

"Mother," the small one murmurs 
In its restless, uneasy sleep, 
"Let us rise and call out to them 
From this dark and unpleasant deep. 

"Sinless we lived in our lifetimes 
Sinless we lie in our sleep, — 
Was it wrong to love so fondly ? 
Was it wrong to seek the deep ? 

Perhaps he may come to seek us 
Swaying down here with the tide — 
Weary of life and living 
He may take us to his side." 

Little differs the day from the night-time, 
A star's ray sometimes pierces the gloom. 
The sunlight but causes a twilight 
Down in this rocking tomb. 

Rocking and swaying and sleeping 
With the restless, flowing tide, 
The wraith of a love is keeping 
Where ships at anchor ride. 



THECHRYSALID 53 



THE WORKERS OF THE WORLD. 



Grim workers, a-toil at the sky-line, 

In rain, in sleet and in snow; 

Toiling with pick and shovel. 

Helping the city to grow. 

Your silhouette on the sky-line 

Is as old as the Age of Man ; 

Your kin builded the Tower of Babel 

Ere the centuries began. 

Your great sires built for the Pharaohs, 

Toiling with rock upon rock ; 

Their pain saved the fame 

Of the Pharaoh's name: — 

Their names were reckoned not. 



TO THE MADONNA. 



sweet Madonna ! Mater mea ! 
Give me thy grace to bear it all ! 

High o'er the trump of life's fierce battle, 
I hear thy sweet voice, ''Hark ! A call !" 

Thy son — sweet One, fond Intercessor — 
Died on the cross, and not in vain ; 

His pain and love, thy sad, dear patience, 
Help my cross to lose all its bane. 

0, fair Madonna ! gentle Mother ! 
Thy children call Thee not in vain: 

Thy gentle head is ever bending 
To hear a mortal's note of pain. 

Then straightway to the Son and Father, 
Thy gentle footsteps turn in quest — 

Well knowing, kind and loving Mother — 
Thy Son will answer thy behest. 



54 THECHRYSALID 



LITTLE STAR. 



Little star ! I love you — 
All along the way. 

Little star ! twinkle — 
Lead me to the day. 

Little star! I love you 
On the stony way. 

Little star ! twinkle 
While I kneel and pray. 

Little star! I love you 
Shining in the blue. 

Little star 1 I pray you 
Help me to be true. 

Little star ! I wonder 
What the way will be — 

Are there many wand'rers 
Desolate like me? 

Little star ! Please twinkle 
Lest my courage flee. 

Little star! O guide me 
Help me to be free ! 



IN CHILDHOOD. 



The woods held a green enchantment 
All the Spring and Summer long, 
The bright red and gold of Autumn 
Carried on the happy song. 
The jaybird screamed his joy 
From the near-by maple's top, 
While a happy girl and boy 
Found this just the place to stop. 



THECHRYSALID 55 

Here they came to look for blossoms 
In the earhest days of Spring, 
While the frost still bound the waters 
Every morn and evening. 
Finding then no flowers to gather, 
Digging deep, they'd find the roots 
Of violets, ferns, and sweet May-apple 
'Neath the thicket's bending shoots. 

Wandering happy, gay and free, 
Listening to the bird and bee, 
Flowing water, rustling leaves, 
Reapers binding up the sheaves; 
Building houses in the sun. 
And the shelter of the trees. 
From old March's chilling breeze. 
Pebbles marking each small room — 

Stones and withered grass for chairs, 
Acorn cups for goblets fine — 
Filled with an enchanted wine. 
From the swiftly flowing streams — 
Mesmerized by Youth's young dream ; 
Waiting for the violet's bloom, 
Soon to fill each little room 
With purpled carpets fine. 

Looking upward to the trees 
Soon to bloom and scent the breeze 
With pinky pearls of wild crab-apple 
Fairest of our native trees. 
Going nutting in the Autumn 
Through September's warm sweet days. 
Scented fine with mint and resin. 
Simmered down by August's rays. 



56 THECHRYSALID 



THE MAD PRINCESS. 



Down in the cool green depths, where the moon- 
rays tremble thin, 

Down in the cool green sea where the dead do en- 
ter in, 

There I will hold my court, seated on coral throne, 

There I will meet my love and never be alone. 

The little fishes will play and glide before me as I 
rise, 

And strange sea flower will open as I meet my 
lover's eyes. 

In the coral cave 'neath the cool green waves — 

My love and I will walk alone — for our love we 
will atone. 

Then a long goodbye to earth and sky — goodby to 
the floating cloud — 

I go to my love on a coral throne — to my love, and 
not a shroud. 



SUNSET LAND. 



Fair, sunset land, of tender skies, of opalescent 

hues! 
Bright argosy of myriad dreams, the soul of man 

imbues. 

The haughty Spanish Don found here a fairer land 

than Spain, — 
Of golden days and moonlight nights — for his 

guitar's refrain. 

The Pilgrims dreamed of the golden rays of the 

low — setting sun; 
They pondered o'er the Western world when day 

its course had run. 



THECHRYSALID 67 

The Indian legends heard by them were of wealth 
manifold. 

On bleak New England's shores they stood and 

bade the East farewell, 
Then turned their gaze unto the West and prayed 

their God to tell 

Them of this strange and foreign land that it 

might use them well, — 
While the sun sank in the golden West, whose 

mystery none could tell. 

The pioneer pushed on, and on, through forest, 

stream and sand; 
Each danger and privation met, — nearer the prom- 
ised land. 

Soldiers and statesmen fought their way to this 

fair land of gold ; 
They came in great and grand new ships, they 

came in rotten hold. 

They came in old and rotting hulks, they came in 
''braw'' new ships; 

The pony rider brought the news on wild and ven- 
turous trips. 

Fair sunset land ! Thy treasures still unfold some- 
thing ever new and good ; 

As when the gallant Fremont saw the sea from the 
mountain's snowy hood. 

Brave men and true ! A hardy race ! The flower of 

all the world ! 
Fame's pencil ne'er can number them who saw thy 

flag unfurled. 
The sun, low-drooping in the west, seemed to sink 

into gold — 



58 THECHRYSALID 



MOTHERHOOD. 



0, little heart ! so close to mine ! 
Beating so warm and true ! 

Down to the very gates of Death 
I go to sue for you. 

Soon will I see your little face, 
Your tiny, rose-leaf hands. 

How the good God has made it so — 
A mother understands. 

The price for you will soon be paid ; 
Then — then — my little one, 

A mother's love encompass you, 
From sun until sun. 

My little one, I love you so !; 
Each day is happiest. 

That brings me nearer to the goal,— 
Your head upon my/ breast. 



FAITH. 

Be brave and true ; 
Whatever of life is held for you 
Is balanced by God's will. 
Waiting your fitness to fulfill. 
Man earns his fate 
By stern decree at which we rate ; 
Of no avail — 

Justice heeds not when we rail. 
Envy not wealth — 
Too oft 'tis punishment ; 
A full-fed pride means not content :- 
It grows by that on which it feeds- 
Desired wealth for fancied needs. 



THECHRYSALID 59 



ONNE YONDER GRASSYE KNOLLE. 



Onne yonder grassye knoUe 
Ye little lambkins lie ; 
Onne yonder grassye knolle 
Ye tree-tops ) touch ye sky. 

Onne yonder grassye knolle 
rd like to dream awhile, 
And watch ye birds and clouds 
And a far red roof's tile. 

Onne yonder grassye knolle 
rd look far down below 
And see ye ripples bright 
Onne little streams that flow. 

Onne yonder grassye knolle 
Ye tree-tops touch ye sky ; 
O'er yonder grassye knolle 
Ye birds do dart and fly. 



THE GOAL, 



Like raven'd hounds that tear their kill and glut 

themselves with gore — 
Like beastly drunk, besotted ones, who reel and 

cry for more; 
So 'tis for Fame, Success, all this — and something 

more. 

Tis true, and yet condemn not one who sacrifices 

all— 
Himself a sacrifice, cheered by infinitesimal 
Gains — none else would call them gains, the vant- 
age is so small. 



60 THECHRYSALID 

Each little vanity dies here, each little thought's 

stamped out ; 
Self-confessor stern, blotting all foreign to the 

goal — Success. 
This, this, the world does term success. 

Not so ! Striving to climb the clouds whose rifts 

a ray has broken — 
To pierce the gloom and scan the prize less eager 

ones denied ; 
Pure, virgin Fame, that justifies the loftiest aim. 

"Content you," cry less eager ones, 'This goal 

suits many well.'' 
The fame-drunk one scarce hears the call. Fame's 

silver trumpets swell — 
Let one faint note but pierce his ear, to all else 

'tis the knell. 

Fame's altar richest off' rings gain — naught is too 

good for Fame- — 
Success — those magic words, so much they mean — 

so tame all else. 
The hoardings of life lie close — stakes in this 

greatest game. 



WHICH IS REAL? 



When all is is said and done, dear, 
When the span of life is run, — 
How bitter are our triumphs 
That the world counts one by one. 

The laurel and the bay wreaths 
That they hold for aching brows — 
The Nepenthe of these day-dreams,- 
How they hold us to our vows. 



THE CHRYSALID 61 

That we keep calling real, — 
Just to smother the dear dreams 
That into our hearts will steal. 
Ah, me ! that our hearts can feel ! 

Dreams of a perfect beauty 
And dreams of a blessed peace 
Keep calling from out the silence — 
Keep calling — and will not cease. 

Kind eyes that are monitors 
Look on at my bitter pain, 
They look from out the silence 
And glow in the driving rain. 

H* H» ^ ^ 

Which is the dream, and which the real ? 
Only the hungry -heart can feel. 
It knows its own — it knows its right 
Though thunder rings — and the path is — 
Night! 



THE GAME OF LIFE. 



The Game is a game of Patience and you win when 

you think you lose. 
And the God of all Things deals the cards — al- 
though you think you choose. 
You choose a Joy and it's Heartache, your sorrow 

bringeth a rose — 
Ay, we're plucking, always blindfold — playing the 

Game till the close. 
For we are a race of Gamblers, cheating ourselves 

that we choose — 
Drop out of the Game, discard the Pack — another 

steps in your shoes. 
He's new and thinks he's a winner, he thinks he 

can play fast or slow — 
We know that at last he's loser — with the pack to 

the discard he'll go. 



62 ; THE CHRYSALID 



CIRCE. 

Flaunting and fair she stood, — 
A passion flower swaying 
In the wind, fair as a rose 
Her gleaming form, 
Deep as black depths her sin. 
Incense clung about her 
And waved from her soft white skin ; 
A lily bent above her — 
Fit chalice for Love's queen — 
I ween. 

Her eyes in sensuous triumph 
Shone 'neath a brow of snows ; 
She bent the cup of the lily 
And laid it 'gainst a rose — 
Red rose. 

"You want your love ?" she murmured, 
"You knew that I wove the spell ? 
And I *have many lovers' — 
Ay, more than I can tell. 
Ah, well!" 

"Lovers," she laughed, "are plenty, 
Plenty as leaves on the tree. 
You would 'lead him back to honor' 
If I would but set him free ?" 
Ah's me! 

Honor ! ay, what is Honor 
But a thing to buy and sell? 
I gave away my honor. 
And so I sure can tell — 
Full well. 

That the thing you prate of 
Is a thing well gone, for then 



THECHRYSALID 63 

It cannot be filched by men. 
And love — I have many lovers — 
Thy love. 

Why Weep at that? 
The rose tree beareth many blooms — 
Why weepest thou for thistle-down ? 
"Happy?'' Who's happy, witless one? 
Not you — not I — not any 'neath the sun 
We cry for moonbeams, fairies' gold — 
Or happiness. 

I had a dream but yester-night — 

A grinning skull an apple gnawed. 

Holding it firm with fleshless hand. 

Greedy it fed upon the fruit ! 

So Death gnaws Life — 

I, with my many lovers, will go down the Way, 

You, weeping for the one you could not stay. 

You nurse your grief, — I trampled mine — 

For who would oflfer pearls to swine ? 

Go ! take your lover, pulling one. 

Your punishment is but begun ! 



MY BOOK. 



I lent a book unto a friend; — 

I might have known 'twas friendship's end. 

A year rolled 'round, 

And still I found 

Its place was bare — 

It was not there. 

I telephoned to my dear friend, 
"My book I want— for it I'll send." 
My friend grew wroth — 
She seemed to froth ; 
Her opinions she 
Poured out to me. 



64 THECHRYSALID 

"Your book ! — it was not good !" cried she, 
"Fve never read it ! From mark 'tis free. 
Perhaps you think 
I meant to keep 
Your tiresome book ? 
Why in my sleep 

The thing, it woke and worried me, 
ril bring it back and so be free." 
Freed of a friend. 
This friendship's end. 
My book — indeed, 
You are my friend. 

My book is back within its place ; 
Its golden thoughts none may erase. 
They bring me fields 
Of sparkling dew. 
And meadows sweet 
With thyme and rue. 

Friendship, you taught. 
Is but a bubble 
That bursts at the 
First breath of trouble. 



'JES^ BEFORE CHRISTMAS/ 



Jes' before Christmas I'm as mean as I kin be. 

My mother says you couldn't tell 

If I was girl or boy by the different presents that 

I want — 
An' the way I kick and yell. 

• 
I want a doll, a graphophone, 
I want a circus too, I want some Teddy bears — 



THECHRYSALID «5 

I sure want more than two. 

I want a walking clown, an' then 

I want one that can eat. 

I want a horse, a Christmas tree, 

An' one of those drums that you don't beat. 

But, gee ! they make a noise like you dumped a load 

of coal in the street. 
I want a top that spins on a thread, 
I want some doll's rubbers too. 
I want about a peck of candy an' about a hundred 

books. 
(I know there ain't no Santa Claus, I told my 

mother so.) 
I want some toys that jump; 
I want a big pink bow. 
They all tell me I want the earth, when I only want 

one toy-shop. 
Everyone is just as mean as they can be an' tells 

me to be good. 
Now, how can I ? I don't believe you would 
If you wanted as many dif 'frent things, 
And then, besides, you knew you'd get just so 

many anyhow, — 
About a dozen or two. 
I've scratched the whole calender out trying to 

make Christmas hurry up — 
An' then I couldn't tell, — so I wrote '*seven more 

days." 
But now, I think it's only three, — 
I'll ask my mother ! 
Yesterday, — or was it today? She said 'twas 

three. 
Oh, dear, I'm hungry — I don't know what I want 

to eat. 
Oh, why don't Christmas hurry up ? 



66 THECHRYSALID 



THE LITTLE BOAT. 



My life is like a little boat 

That gaily puts to sea ; 

It weathers storm-clouds one and two — 

Alas, it wears not three. 

It sailed so gaily in the morn 
And laughed at tempests' roar ; 
At noon — the water it had shipped 
Steadied it more and more. 

It passed an old and rotting log, 
Sodden and thick with slime. 
The little boat steered clear of this, — 
Perhaps 'tis why I rhyme. 

Another storm broke o'er the boat ; 
It shivered 'neath the blast, — 
The sea swept o'er where it had been — 
The log rode safely past. 



THE CARDINAL FLOWER, 



'Tis a gypsy flower and a i gypsy heart wakens to 

it's desire — 
Full-blown it flings to the wind a kiss from lips 

on fire. 
Scarlet and soft, the wanton lips woo wind and bee 

and bird — 
Mute, but the scarlet message is flung to the eyes 

of the thirsty herd. 
In a dim retreat doth my lady sit bowered by tree 

and vine — j 
And none but a lover brave and bold can hold this 

lady fine — 



THECHRYSALID 67 

Tribute and toll she takes of all and over the water 

she leans to call 
Praise of her beauty — so bright and warm, 
As she bends to the beat of the passing storm. 

Scarlet and flashing, gem of my heart ! 
Thou art a flower ? perhaps a part — 
But the rest, oh, my gypsy queen. 
The beat of thy wild heart few have seen, — 
So full of impatience, love, haste and dpsire — 
Unsatisfied ever, — thou heart of fire. 
Ye're the ghost of a long past Gypsy queen 
And her like looks down at you— 

Her heart flames up in each cardinal cup 

That nods to the sky so blue. 

She could not stay in the dark brown mold — 
For the sky called out to her — 
The drip of the rain could the body hold 
But the spirit must rise and seek the gold 
Of the sun in the dawn's sweet cold — 
The sun and the camp fire's train. 

Her eyes gleamed gold as a panther's eye 
And her lips they gave you your scarlet dye— 
I know — for I have been told. 

For a Gypsy queen can read your heart — 
Thou flower of the streamlet, O scarlet heart ! 
Panting, impatient and wild, wild. 
Thou spirit of this sad forest child. 
Her heart was a vivid, restless thing — 
And she felt the lash and she felt the sting 
Of passion and wild unfulfilled desire — 
The longing that sets a world on fire. 
On the dry warm bank you nod and heed, 
I lie beside you and cry my need. 

Flower of the streamlet, you give and give 

The courage to me to know and live. 



68 THE CHRYSALID 



THE IDOL. 



The Idol sat on its jeweled throne, — 
Its feet were of unbaked; clay — 
While roses and incense and women's hearts 
Scented the temple so gray. 

For its emerald eyes a woman's soul 
Had gone to the depths of hell; — 
She sold her life, her hope and herself 
For each green and gleaming well. 

Its scarlet lips were so soft and warm 
With the blood of a girl's first-born, — 
'Twas a woman-child, and so 
Its blood stated the great Idol's scorn. 

Its hands were warm with red gleaming coals. 
And women's sad trembling hearts 
Laid there till but ashes gray and light 
Circling high as the curtain parts. 



DREAMING. 



I have been there in the dream-times. 
Treading the paths I would go ; 
I have heard lily and frost-chimes 
In vales I never may know. 

Fairy bells ringing so sweetly, 
Fairy-folk dancing in glee; 
Ghost-lights a-down in the thicket 
Beckon, keep calling to me. 

Fearing not, I would go find them, 
Meet them, and ask why they search? 
Demons, or fairies, or goblins? 
Dare they to go near a church ? 



THE CHRYSALID 



Down in the hollow and thicket 
Ghost-lights flit hither and yon; 
Down with the snake and the cricket, 
They beckon and call me to come. 



A TOAST. 



Life is a jest ! ah, take it so ! 
Twill help you on the way. 
Life is a jest ! — Just murmur that — 
Twill help you in the fray. 

None heed our frowns, nor yet our tears ; 
But when we laugh, ah, then, 
Our friends are thick as they were few. 
Cheer up ! and smile again. 

The fool who shakes his Folly's cap 
May gain the shining gold 
To ease the pain he else must show. 
So laugh and jest and hold. 

That grief itself lasts not for aye — 
It passes like our smiles. 
Be brave ! cheer up ! another cup — 
Old grief is gone for miles. 



f 



70 THECHRYSALID 



"Contents. 



The Chrysalid 3 

Infinity. 

And I saw beauty, 
Portulacae 4 

Longing. 
Affinity 5 

Tis mystery! 

The Game of Hearts 6 

There Is No Grief 7 

Forensic. 

Meditation. 

The Call of the Hills 8 

The Path of the Seer 9 

Self-Denial 10 

The Stars. 
The Vision 11 

The Silver Trumpet. 

God's Love 12 

To Nature 13 

Memories 14 

To Omar Khayyam 16 

I Am I ...17 

Mine Enemy. 
A Chant 18 

The Heart of Things. 

Prairie Comrades 19 

Twilight in Oklahoma 20 

Verses on Cover of Outdoor Life 21 

The Last 22 

Song. 

Castles in the Air 23 

The Heights ..24 

The Spell. 
A Prayer 25 

My Trees. 



THECHRYSALID 71 

A Prayer 26 

My Dream-Home. 
Sundown 27 

Missouri-Land. 
Lonely.., ,. 28 

Butterflies. 

The Soul-Flower 29 

The Pasture-Lot 30 

The Changing Seasons. 
To Mary Baker Eddy 31 

"Each Man His Prison Makes." 

My Lady of Delight 33 

A Valentine 34 

Clear Creek Canyon. 

A Fragment 35 

The Winds 36 

The Mist. 
Their Missions ..37 

When the locust sings then Summer is come, — 

The Tale of Jewels 38 

The New Year 39 

The Mute Interpreter 40 

"See what I bear on my bosom," 

Incantation ..41 

Duty 42 

The God of All Things. 
Swallows 48 

In Childhood. 

The FooFs Rhapsody 44 

Indian Summer 45 

Ophelia's Lament. 

There Is No Chance 46 

A Step 47 

The Price of Cain 48 

Faith 49 

Knitting 50 

Premonition 51 

Disowned 52 



72 THECHRYSALID 

The Workers of the World 53 

To the Madonna. 
Little Star ^ 54 

In Childhood. 
The Mad Princess 56 

Sunset Land. 
Motherhood , 58 

Faith. 
Onne Yonder Grassye Knolle..^ 59 

The Goal. 

Which Is Real ? 60 

The Game of Life ..._ 61 

Circe 62 

My Book 63 

"Jes' Before Christmas" 64 

The Little Boat 66 

The Cardinal Flower. 
The Idol .....68 

Dreaming. 
A Toast 69 











^^^Q 



